I imagine her full with Jesus. Step after step making her way to the census. Joseph by her side.
Did she follow the prophesy of her own Child's coming? 
Did she wonder how he would ever be born in Bethlehem? And did she fill with anticipation learning that caesar's order would take them to the very place...   

I wonder if she truly understood who she was bringing forth, or if the Mother of the Messiah was blessed with a vague understanding of the sacrifice during the swaddling of her first born.
Could she have even held herself up at first sight of her infant, her Savior, if she truly understood that very night? 

When Jesus later asked her, "did you not know I would be in my Father's house?" Did she?

I think about her with no straight iron or washing machine. Traveling with no laptop or cell phone with preferred obstetrician on speed dial. 
No car. 
Not even cart.

God inside of her.

And I want to put everything down and walk away. The blogs and technology, make-up and media, even camera and lights. I want to set out a candle so that all I can see is flame. So that all I can remember is His fire inside me until it is etched habit, like breathing.

But if it weren't for this ".com", would I be here praying for alignment with the Spirit as I write? Would I have found such a path that even my skin can submit to, with my cheeks soaked loving Mary, a woman I've never before considered? 

Without the spurring on of His love for you and my desire to attend the feeding and fanning of flames, wouldn't I still just be writing me on my own pages?

A lot of questions I don't have sure answers for this morning. 
But in my anticipation, in my own waiting on this eve for the coming Christ child, there is one thing I am sure of... I am waiting for what He already knows will be. And in that there is great peace.  


Spirit to spirit to spirit

Knocking, I hear the barking of his dogs inside. Through the pain of glass in the door I see his familiar shape standing in the kitchen. Face down the hallway in my direction he smiles, permitting me to open and enter at my own risk. 

I wait in the entrance for him to quiet and corral the Pulis like I know only he can. 

I look him over... inside-out striped thermal top over t-shirt, sweat pants, socks and rubber shoes.
This is the first time I've seen him without a skull cap since his accident. 
I scan for scars of a head trauma that took his life last year, twice.  
But the only visible marks left are on the inside shining out. The kind of mark only our Creator and Healer can make. 

I remember being in his home for the first time. Taking care of the dogs while he was away, running. I remember God telling me to lay and pray. I cried joy as His love for this friend of mine washed over me... and the layers of intercession filled with whispers of a coming change through healing and refinement.

He turns to the table and returns with a gift in hand. A necklace he bought me from the top of a mountain someplace in Arizona. 
Not safe in a box. We are not either one of us tucked safely in boxes. 
Just fingers holding delicate strands of love and offerings from spirit to spirit to Spirit. 
Father God shines, lighting up the room.

And I look him over again... a man refining, healing. Changed.

My path has not been crossed so many times in so many ways by another. Not any ordinary coincidental happening. This is most definitely an ordained divinely sewn tapestry. 

We talk. Stirring the waters of God within, wading in the mainstream of His will for His children.

And I pray that his real scar, like mine -a religion that tells us we cannot come- will draw him to the scar of the One; a nail shaped covenant that bids us all, come.

We stand together in his living room. 
On the outside we are surrounded by gift boxes. On the inside there lay boxes we've crawled out of, wounded, to face the Maker - and we wait for the celebration of a God who cradled Himself a Son in flesh and manger - A God Who promises to cradle us and clear our path to wholeness and forever. 

The Christmas Gift in Christ is again extended, and I savor deep the Truth that God holds us in his fingers right now. 
Right where we are. 
Just as we are. 
Broken and healed, fallen and rising, hated and still finding love in what's left.
And to Him, through Him, because of Him we are... just right.


here and there...

Please pray for God's continued guidance in the unfolding of these web-journals. I believe things are coming along, but I am stepping cautiously and carefully with a heart to remain in His Will only.